Miracle in Glasgow
by Snowballjane
Summary: Aziraphale makes a terrible mistake


Title; Miracle in Glasgow  
  
Author; Snowballjane  
  
Disclaimer; They belong to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. But they keep following me around.  
  
A/N; All kbk's fault for her Crowley took Glasgow LJ icon.  
  
Summary; Aziraphale makes a terrible mistake.  
  
***  
  
It was early morning in Mayfair and the streets were quiet. A wind-driven black feather boa rolled in the road like glamorous tumbleweed.  
  
He dithered on the steps outside Crowley's building, rehearsing just how he was going to explain this, wondering whether he should even explain at all. Wouldn't it be better to just keep it secret? No - Aziraphale knew that would never work. It would eat away at him, knowing that everything was based on a pretence.  
  
He hadn't pressed the bell yet, but Crowley's door security system buzzed and his disembodied voice emerged from the small white grille. "Stop dithering angel and come on up." Aziraphale took a deep breath and pushed at the door.  
  
***  
  
The previous day he had gone to Glasgow on book business. As it turned out, the book he'd travelled up there to see was a fake. An interesting one, but he wasn't prepared to pay the asking price and anyway, the seller hadn't been happy to be told that he'd been ripped off.  
  
So he'd been walking through the centre of Glasgow for the first time ever, making a mental note to compliment Crowley on the architecture, then reminding himself that he perhaps ought not to mention the trip to Crowley, even if it was only on book business.  
  
The priest's misery almost knocked him over. It took a moment to locate the small, balding, dog-collared man, standing on a window ledge almost directly above him.  
  
***  
  
It wasn't easy being a priest in Glasgow. He saw far too much of the misery of life and far too little of the divine. It had been so easy to believe in his youth and during his training in Durham. During his first ministry in Edinburgh his heart had been filled with fervour and the desire to help his fellow man. But since he had come to Glasgow his faith had ebbed. Last week he had called to give comfort to the family of a dying child and he had been unable to find any words that could make sense of it.  
  
So now Father McNab stood teetering on a window ledge. Suicide was a sin, he reminded himself, but then what did it matter? Life was nasty and short and bitter and death was the end. He stepped forward.  
  
Time stopped. Gravity stopped. He floated in mid-air, the people in the street below frozen into stillness. Suddenly he heard the beating of immense wings. A glowing angel wrapped its arms around him and lifted him back onto the window ledge. Time and gravity got going again.  
  
"Y-y-you're." he stammered, wide-eyed in shock.  
  
"Yes," said the angel. "You nearly had a nasty fall."  
  
The angel folded its wings in and suddenly looked far more like a bookseller than a member of the heavenly host. Even its glow had winked out.  
  
"I was trying."  
  
"I know. But it wouldn't be a good idea," the angel told him. "Anyway, we need people like you, people who care. Especially here."  
  
The angel suddenly looked very odd. Panic-stricken even. "Oh my," it said and moved to run out of the door.  
  
"Wait!" shouted Father McNab.  
  
The angel didn't stop. "No more jumping!" it called back over its shoulder as it ran.  
  
***  
  
Aziraphale caught the sleeper back to London, but he didn't sleep a wink.  
  
***  
  
The plants were terrified. Two perfectly healthy specimens had just ended their days, shattered to pieces on the floor of the flat.  
  
The first had been thrown directly at the pleading angel, accompanied by an oddly high-pitched "Get out!" from Crowley. Aziraphale had averted the plant and stood his ground for a few moments longer, head bowed, murmuring apologies.  
  
"Get out!" Crowley might have sounded calmer that time but the plants had recognised a dangerous edge of malice in his tone. A red and green dragonera plant had found itself being tested for throwing weight in the demon's hands.  
  
The angel had started to back towards the door. "Crowley."  
  
"Leave. Now."  
  
Aziraphale had fled. The dragonera just had time to believe itself reprieved when it was hurled with demonic strength at the closing door.  
  
Now the plants didn't know what to expect. Crowley was still in the same spot where he had been standing ten minutes ago when the door banged shut, only now he was crouched on all fours, alternating between muttering to himself and just plain growling.  
  
An hour later soil had been trodden, nay stamped, into the white carpet and a considerable amount of other stuff had joined the two broken plants on the floor, including several empty bottles and most of Crowley's CD collection. Crowley himself sat curled into a tight ball on the leather sofa wearing a frown of intense and sober thought.  
  
He got to his feet with an angry hiss and strode to the door. As he left the flat he glanced over his shoulder and dismissively gestured the place tidy again.  
  
As his footsteps quickened down the hall, the plants sighed with relief.  
  
***  
  
It didn't take long to find the angel. He was in St James's Park, sitting on a bench, throwing bread at the ducks. No, Crowley corrected himself, watching from a distance, Aziraphale threw bread to the ducks. A lump of bread hit a duck squarely between the eyes. The next one landed just where the smallest, weakest looking duck could snatch it up. The next one practically stunned the duck it hit.  
  
Realisation dawned. Crowley had to sit down for a moment to recover his nerve. Dear, silly, sentimental Aziraphale. Poor, glum-looking angel. So wrapped in his obvious misery he hadn't even noticed Crowley's presence.  
  
Well, fine - because he deserved to be miserable. And it was no good getting all maudlin and sympathetic, because there wasn't an Arrangement anymore, was there? And without the Arrangement there was only the War. Right?  
  
It was back to black and white, good and evil time. No more pleasant dinners, no more lazy afternoons in the park, no more drinking until dawn and bitching about the middle management of heaven and hell.  
  
He stopped himself. This inner monologue was supposed to be a pep talk, not a wallow. They were enemies. They had been enemies with an Arrangement and now they were enemies without one. And that was all there was to it.  
  
He looked back at the angel, who was now being harassed for food by a pelican. He threw off his shades and started to run.  
  
***  
  
Aziraphale was trying to shoo the pelican away when the speed-blurred black streak hit his bench. The bench shattered into a million pieces and the angel found himself pinned to the ground, his head hanging over the edge of the pond.  
  
Despite it being a very uncomfortable position, his first reaction was one of absurd delight. "Crowley!" he gasped.  
  
Crowley snarled. His eyes narrowed.  
  
"Er, Crowley. This is quite painful actually."  
  
"It'sss meant to be, idiot. Thisss is how it isss without the Arrangement and you've ruined all that. Remember?"  
  
"Oh." Aziraphale made no effort to break the uncomfortable hold and forced himself to ignore the angelic instincts that were telling him that having a demon sitting on your chest and hissing in your ear called for some serious smiting. If he fought back, the Arrangement really would be over. Maybe he still had a last chance to convince Crowley that they could salvage something from this mess.  
  
Maybe.  
  
The demon's eyes were flashing with anger, but Aziraphale thought he knew him well enough to see the fear that lay behind that. It was easy enough to recognise. It was the same fear that lay behind his own guilt and misery. The fear of thousands more years fighting his side's battles without someone to share a drink with. Without someone who understood.  
  
"What? You thought you could ssstroll into my flat and announssse that the Arrangement no longer applied to you? You arrogant bassstard!"  
  
Maybe not.  
  
The crushing grip was really starting to hurt. He was starting to feel dizzy. The urge to fight back was getting harder to control. He fervently hoped that outright pleading would work.  
  
"Please Crowley. It was a mistake. I'm sorry. I wish I'd never been to Glasgow. Can't we fix it somehow?"  
  
Crowley faltered. "I-- Can we? I don't want to do this," said the demon in a small voice.  
  
"It's up to you." Aziraphale closed his eyes.  
  
The death grip slowly relaxed into something resembling a clumsy and rather shaky hug. As Aziraphale found he could move his arm again he wrapped it around Crowley and patted him gently on the shoulder.  
  
The pelican stared at them.  
  
Years of living in England reasserted themselves. They shuffled apart, embarrassed.  
  
Crowley rebuilt the bench and they sat down.  
  
***  
  
"So we're good then?"  
  
"No Crowley. I'm good, you're eeeeevil." He made silly monster claws in the air with his fingers as he said it.  
  
It was a feeble joke, but Crowley chuckled anyway and the sound drove away the last of the tension that had marked the conversation on the bench for the past ten minutes.  
  
"But I think we're ok," said Azriaphale with a look of complete contentment settling on his face.  
  
"Can we go to Shropshire then?"  
  
Puzzlement chased away the contented look. "Why? Oh, well, quid pro quo I suppose. But isn't that just asking for trouble." Puzzlement made an exit and worry settled in.  
  
Crowley smiled, nay, grinned. "I want to go to Ludlow. I hear you've managed to get four Michelin-starred restaurants out there in the middle of nowhere - nice work by the way - but I've been steering clear because of, well, you know. No tempting, I promise."  
  
***  
  
They had a very pleasant weekend in Shropshire. While they were there they worked out the terms of the New Arrangement.  
  
In Edinburgh the police had a hard time explaining the sudden spike in crime figures. In Glasgow, Father McNab noticed a sharp increase in rainbows.  
  
***  
  
The End 


End file.
